ATOTP Bios:The Autobiography of Cecelia Jones
by iPods-and-Tea
Summary: The personal account of Cecelia Jones, a main character from ATOTP. Stay tuned for Charlie, Emma, Shea, Juliana, and Betty's autobiographies coming soon!


_***This is the first in a chronicles series for A Tale of Two Pities. In these series of one-shots it will give each main character a back story and supplementary detail on their life and why they may behave the way they do today. It also will give some insight into their lives and the changes they endured. They will also be told in first person as a twist. ***_

It wasn't fair. Life wasn't fair. I hated life. I hate life to this day. It's unjust, cruel, despicable, and sometimes I want to capitulate to all the irritations suppressing me from living my dreams. My number one restrainer was children. I hate children, always have, always will. They disgust me, they're all annoying and deceptive, they get everyone wrapped around their little finger just so they can connive and swindle people. They're never as innocent as they appear, haven't you ever heard the expression; "looks can be deceiving"? Yeah, well children are what cause that expression to exist. Everybody is so irking, I just wanted to lock myself in my Aunt's closet, draw and never come out, secluding myself was all I wanted, I don't care, call me antisocial. If I had things my way though, that would change my entire outlook on the despicable world around us. People would worship, me, me, the almighty Cecelia, I should rule the world, shouldn't I, I mean there isn't anything I could fail at if I tried. If at first you don't succeed, try, try again, am I correct? My obsession with conquering the planet was initiated when I graduated high school. Ugh, high school, bad, bad memories. After I graduated Pity Academy I wanted more, I wanted people to listen to me, why shouldn't they, I'm godlike, aren't I? I wanted the world under my thumb, have them on a short leash, jumping at my every word, my way or the highway. That's how it all started, it was ignited by the fire kindling inside of me waiting to be lit.

I had every intention of going to college, I wanted to be educated, and no good world conqueror was ignorant. I aimed to go to the University of Cambridge my entire life, I loved England, and Cambridge was the second greatest college in the entire world, second to only Harvard, but that was in the United States. I wanted to go study in a foreign country, and Britain spoke my language. I don't know, I sent in the application, I was so proud, I was accepted, I couldn't believe it, _I _was accepted into the second greatest college in the _entire world_. I flew to Cambridge, I was ready to enroll, I had even got a partial scholarship and the rest of the tuition was paid in full in advance. Within a month I'd became antsy and restive, my craving to take over the universe was augmenting and I couldn't control myself. That month, in October, I dropped out of Cambridge. I was eighteen going on nineteen in November, I had no patience, it was the most moronic decision of my entire life, they gave me acceptance and a scholarship to the second highest regarded school in the world and I took it and threw it in their faces, oh, what I wouldn't do to go back.

Alas, if you don't do things at the right time, it's too late. You have to go to college at the right time, get a job at the right time, get married at the right time, buy a house at the right time, bare children at the right time, retire at the right time, if you slip up, even once, it'll screw everything up for your entire life that follows. You'll be stranded in perpetual doom, like me, chasing after some unattainable reverie to rule the world. I should've done more research, realized it was impossible, literally, it would take divine intervention to be implemented. I cannot convey to you how important it is to you, to apprehend that some things just can never be achieved, and I'm not even trying to be pessimistic (for once) I'm just stating a fact, a fact people must realize. From this point forward I will relay to you the account of my life from after the time of my resignation from Cambridge, how everything plummeted downhill after one stupid mistake. The avalanche just kept growing…

October, 2011, the leaves were falling, changing to orange, yellow, red, and brown colors. The air turned crisp and brisk, it was cool and refreshing and whisked through your hair as the wind blew. I was walking down the pavement devising my plan through my head, thinking how impeccable it was, how I was on the road to perfection, world infamy, renouncement, nefariousness, notoriousness, praise, I could hardly contain my excitement, even me, and I'm generally no Emma. I was rustling through my papers, my hard work, my immaculate scheme. I was going to start small and build on it from there, England was too big, their army would shut me down instantaneously and all its allies would butt in, and just…ugh, I don't like to think about how badly I would've been annihilated. I was right off the coast of this tiny, old naval base, Sealand. It was a chunk of metal claiming to be a country in the middle of the North Sea. I had no doubt in my mind that I could overtake _that_.

On my mission to overthrow the_ royal_ Sealandic Bates family I met a man named Eric. Eric was dating a woman named Ariel but, when he met me that didn't last very long. We started sneaking out, he was cheating on her, I knew it and I didn't care, I knew that since he was cheating on her for me when he'd been dating her for four years I must be the primary choice. Eric was so dumb, he got caught within the next half month and Ariel dumped him, now she hates my guts and I'm pretty sure she's still yamming down under the sea with Sebastian even though it's been a couple decades. So, yeah, he dumped the fish and we got hitched. Then I explained to him my ingenious plan to overthrow the Bates family as step one of my process of conquering the world and he got _horrified_ and divorced me, what a jerk. I said sayonara to that loser and formed an elite army of robotic Eskimos to help me defeat Sealand. I deployed my men and prepped myself for the ambush. They didn't see it coming the bombs were dropped and explosions eradicated any sign of worthless life on that dump. I took it over, my Eskimos and I were bursting with pride, we claimed Sealand in the name of Cecelia!

It's not like it was worldwide news or anything, I mean no one cares about Sealand, they wouldn't even acknowledge it as an independent nation, so it was hardly mentioned, not even the papers in London even touched on it. One man must've heard of it though because that man came to Sealand one weekend and captivated my heart. I had only recently gone through a rough divorce with Eric but, I was nineteen and over it. DeFazio, was a hunk, I admit it, he was a hottie, sorry N, but he was the best looking husband I've had (I've had 17). So DeFazio came on a white horse and shining armor and swept me off my feet. We were married by the next week, he knew of my plan and swore allegiance to me and, also to assist me on my quest. Unfortunately, DeFazio was all looks and no brains, he was so stupid, he made Patrick Star look like Einstein. Of course with his looks and charm that moron could coax and cajole me into wormadam near anything. He was all like "I think you should aim to take over the USA next, that would be a good idea, you could, since you got Sealand, getting America should be a breeze!" Yeah, so would freezing hell over or finding a needle in a haystack or looking for a grain of salt on the beach. Great idea, DeFazio, really great idea, I mean wow. Before DeFazio's harebrain scheme could be put into affect a friend of mine appeared on Sealand, hide-and-seek champion of the world, looking for a new spot to hide.

Osama Bin Laden wanted to hide in Sealand, yeah, I thought he was dead too. The infamous terrorist rings my doorbell, in Sealand, at four AM and guess what genius answers the door. I can remember their conversation like it was yesterday…

"Hey, who is it?" DeFazio said as he opened the door, he's an imbecile, what can I say, this is why we aren't together anymore.

"Osama…" Bin Laden said as he hid under the brim of his turban coyly.

"Obama! Holy cheese! Brock Obama, the gym leader by day, president by night!" DeFazio exclaimed excitedly.

"No." Osama said bluntly, "You, silly-Willie, I am Osama Bin Laden, world's most hated man alive, or dead, so they believe,"

"Oh, my God," DeFazio gasped.

"Finally you understand!" Osama exclaimed.

"ZOMBIE! HOLY CHEESE!" DeFazio exclaimed.

"I am not a zombie?" Osama said as he face-palmed himself.

"Oh, well then, you must be the Domino's pizza guy. Why would your parents name you after a terrorist, hey, but judging people is wrong, so I won't ask. Mr. Bin Laden, I'm sorry, but you're pizza is supposed to be here in thirty minutes or less," DeFazio ranted in his nightgown and his hands on his hips.

"…How the heck would I be able to get pizza to you in under 30 minutes when you live on a chunk of metal in the middle of the sea and the nearest Domino's is 200 miles away? …And do I look like a pizza delivery guy to you?" Osama shouted in frustration.

"I thought the turbans were part of the new look Domino's was tryin' out?" DeFazio said, dumbstruck.

"…I am Osama Bin Laden, the terrorist, leader of Al Qaeda!" Osama shouted in my ex-husband's face.

"I KNEW IT, YOU TRICKEY, TRICKEY, BAD, BAD, ZOMBIE! …HOLY CHEESE, CECELLIA, COME QUICK, ZOMBIE, THE PIZZA GUY IS A ZOMBIE, OSAMA BIN LADEN!" DeFazio screamed at the top of his lungs as I rolled out of bed, sighing and cussing beneath my breath. I told that idiot over a hundred times that Domino's won't do overseas delivery. I trudged down the steps, rubbing my eyes and stretching.

"What…honey?" I groaned.

"ZOMBIE!" DeFazio screeched as he clutched onto my pajama.

"Hiya?" Osama said, smiling nervously.

"Oh. My. God." I said in disbelief, "Why the hell aren't you dead at the bottom of the sea where you belong you scumbag?"

"Obama lied, they never killed me, I survived the gunshot, that's why the photos were released, to ease the Americans minds, put a state of mind into their heads that they were safe and the war was beginning to subside," Osama explained but, I remember just slamming the door in that creep's face. Little did I know I'd soon ditch DeFazio for the guy.

"May I please come in, Madame, I have a preposition for you and I'd like to negotiate," Osama pleaded.

"No way José!" I cried.

"I can help you take over the world and I have money!" Osama stated.

"Do you take cream or sugar?" I said as I opened the door allowing him access to my home with a devious smirk on my face. DeFazio escorted him to the kitchen table as I heated up the kettle to brew some tea for our negotiation. At this point we were really hitting off, he was more attractive than you'd think, his beard gave him a fuller look to his thin, sexy face, I just wanted to stroke his beard, it looked _so damn fluffy_! But, I am proud to say that I controlled myself, even though his seductive voice was killing me, I just wanted to take a brush and groom that thing! We began discussing politics and I proposed to him DeFazio's plan, to which he scoffed at.

"Been there, failed that," Osama said as he sipped at his piping hot tea.

"What do you mean, zombie, pizza delivery dude? This plan is foolproof!" DeFazio argued.

"I tried to take over the United States in 2001, that didn't go so well did it? They declared war and are whooping my sorry butt, don't mess with them," Osama insisted.

"But, if I can take the top dog down, the rest of the world will be in the palm of my hands!" I exclaimed.

"It's not possible, you and your Eskimo-robot army aren't even close to being strong enough to even attacking that country," Osama explained.

"My Eskimo-robot army could kick your butt!" I demanded.

"Maybe it can, but can it kick the entire nation of America's butt? I don't think so, if I couldn't neither can your icy Indian friends," Osama stated.

"DeFazio thinks Osama's a mean man," DeFazio stated.

"…DeFazio needs to stop being a Captain Brock C. Obvious," I scowled at him.

"Yes, ma'am, Lieutenant Sarcasm, ma'am!" DeFazio replied as he stood up straight, saluting me as I just gave him the -_- look. Osama and I went back-and-forth for weeks debating on whether or not to try to conquer the USA, during that period I divorced DeFazio for being retarded and I bewed Osama…that's right, I got to stroke that beard, you're jealous, don't lie. One day, Osama and I were sunbathing on the helicopter base of Sealand when a US Air Force helicopter swooped by, my heart skipped a beat.

"Osama, sweetie, I think the military may have spotted you," I stated, trying not to show my inner turmoil.

"Or one of my 12 wives snitched on me…" Osama grumbled.

"What? _Twelve_? At the same time!" I exclaimed in anger.

"Yeah, what's the big deal, babycakes?" Osama said.

"What's the big deal…what's the big deal? I killed DeFazio for you!" I yelled.

"Oh, please, you killed DeFazio because he was annoying as crap, _any_ sensible person would've," Osama shooed me off.

"What are you some sort of mormon with your eighty wives?" I yelled.

"No, I am a Muslim, honey and I _only_ have twelve, that's not _that_ many!" Osama moaned, "You're overreacting!"

"I'm overreacting…You know what, you're just jealous!" I cried.

"I'm…jealous?" Osama said.

"Yeah!" I demanded, "Hey, hey, US, down here, lookie here, he's not really dead, shoot him down!"

"Cecelia, are you nuts! I'm gonna die, they're gonna snipe me I can't-" and he was interrupted, the bullet zoomed right through his chest, I gave them a thumbs-up and shoved the corpse back into the sea where it belonged in 2011. I married several more people, divorced a few more here and there, I just couldn't find _the one_, and I got lots of cash from all these settlements anyway, so it was a win-win situation on my part. During a period when I was single, I decided that I really shouldn't have told on Osama like that…he _only_ had _twelve_ wives, not eighty-five, he wasn't that bad…so I decided to avenge the place of my birth! At the time I was blissfully unaware of the fact that my gradeschool friend, Shea, had become president of the United States. Had I known this I may not have proceeded with an attack upon her nation, potential inflicting it with devastating results. My current husband, Jacques and I were flying in that hovercraft that Jimmy Neutron lent us, headed for attack on the USA, my robot Eskimo army all revved up for the big, unnerving day. We encroached to the country reaching great proximity to Florida's shore. I could feel my heart pounding inside my chest, my hands were sweating, my veins throbbing with anxiety as I felt for the beaker of atom bombs in my coat pocket. I was having second thoughts, a little culpable, I was a Catholic school girl after all, a little guilt swept over me, but I never let it faze me, nice guys finish last and if I wanted to be the conqueror of the world I could show no sympathy. Somehow, before I even reached the shoreline of Orlando we were shot down by the US airforce and I was tried in the Supreme court and found guilty of attempted mass murder and was sentenced to the death penalty. I was sure this was it, I was dead, my dream of ruling the world was over. I hate life, but I digress. I was in the death row, all over FOX and CNN, the caught and convicted of attempted terrorism girl. On the day of my sentence and execution, Shea was there. She looked down upon me with sympathy, which was unusual of her, due to her lack of emotions. I was being held down by military personnel, the one soldier had a long needle in his hand for my lethal injection, I nearly passed out from fear, I felt like a helpless animal about to be put down at the SPCA. Shea was sweating buckets, she was a weak president, I could tell by the feeble look in her typically emotionless eyes that she couldn't carry through with my execution. Shea's frail conscience couldn't bear having one of her childhood best friends murdered even if she was trying to overthrow her country and kill thousands.

I was released free, all charges were dropped, all that happened was that I was deported to that sad-excuse-for-a-country, Canada. I was informed that Jacques had been executed, so that meant that I was no available for all them suitors out there so I could scam them and make a load of cash. I was married to some creepy OCD guy with voodoo dolls in Vancouver. His name was Alberto, Alberto had some issues, let me tell you. He owned some creepy shop in Vancouver called "Alberto's Voodoo Emporium" it scared the crap out of me. I don't know why the little weirdo proposed to the nefarious terrorist but, hey he was rich off the most famous voodoo shop known to man so I was like, when we get divorced I'll rake in some big bucks so, what the hey! The guy was all French so I don't know what his deal was with the Mexican name, I never asked, and frankly, my dear, I didn't give a wormadam.

I'd wake up in the middle of the night to find Alberto in the kitchen whispering soothing things to his voodoo dolls and kissing them gingerly before stabbing them with a sewing needle then laughing maniacally. He'd repeat the disturbing process again and again all night long and in the morning his eyes would be bloodshot and he'd have to drink seven cups of coffee before being awake enough to get back to work at the emporium. One day I got bored, Canada, is a boring frozen wasteland full of nothing but, nutella, hockey, moose burgers, maple syrup and trolling idiots. So, that being said, I found some of my husband's voodoo doll creating supplied and decided to make one of him because well, I don't know, it seemed hilariously ironic. I took the voodoo doll of Alberto and mockingly whispered soothing words to it then jousted it repeatedly with the little sewing needle. Little to my knowledge was he at the emporium bleeding to death of unknown causes, according to the Canadian health department. Which is why you never trust Canadians, they can't even solve basic health problems, why'd I try to bomb the US, Canada's where all the vexing people live. To cut to the chase Alberto was dead, whoopsies!

After that I moved to Sydney, Australia and joined the Australian Kangaroo Club. Apparently, they take annual trips to Hershey Park for some obscure reason and then they obsess over Ben Franklin. There, in the Australian Kangaroo Club is where I met the 69-year-old love of my life, N. N stood out from the crowd, I knew I loved him, he was everything I ever dreamt of and more. We started going out and he took me back to his hometown in Unova and we went on all sorts of Ferris wheel rides. It was sort of sappy, which annoyed me, but, it was okay. I was in love, so I put up with his intolerably corny romantic antics. He was a bit of a perverted creeper but, nobody's perfect. He proposed to me and we went back to Sealand where I was talking to Juliana and I told her to invite everyone to my 17th wedding, I was really in love this time so I wanted it to be special. That pretty much catches you up to date with the present. Just a reflection though, I haven't given up on coquetting the world, I still have that dream burning brightly inside of me. Right now, I'm taking a break to focus on the little things in life, even though I still hate life…and children. I need a break, and that's what I'm currently doing, taking a break, acting like an Emma, with a bunch of Emmas. At the exact second I am recording this autobiography N and I are inside a hospital…N wanted to stop by the nursery…he enjoys pediatrics…for some absurd rationale.

"Woah, you know I love ya Cecelia, but that she is a babe, hotter than hell, right there," N stated, dumbfounded.

"N….." I said.

"Don't be jealous, hun," N said.

"….That's not the issue…" I said, "That is a newborn infant….we're in the nursery…"

"IF SHE'S HOT, SHE'S HOT, HIT ME UP, BABY!" N said, "Literally, you're a baby, see what I did there?"

"Yes, and I never want to see it again," I said.

"By, hot stuff~" N said. That was a mentally scarring experience. I should've just ended at my last paragraph but, I felt the need to mentally scar all of you since it was happening the very second I was wrapping things up. Well, that's all folks, thanks for reading my autobiography, ciao!


End file.
